Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives

Warlock Ch 187. Taboo

Cassius smirked faintly. "That's what they call Kaelan now. Your name became a taboo after everything that happened. It's considered unlucky to even say it aloud."

Damian felt his stomach drop. He opened his mouth to argue but quickly clamped it shut. Complaining wouldn't change anything, and honestly, what was there to say? He was both annoyed and weirdly fascinated by how his legacy had been warped into something unrecognizable.

Henry led them to a pair of heavy double doors, intricately carved with depictions of battles and ancient vampire rituals. He gestured for the guards stationed there to open them, revealing a massive throne room beyond.

The moment Damian stepped inside, he froze. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, and the sheer scale of the room was overwhelming. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, supported by towering columns of black marble veined with blood-red streaks. At the far end of the room sat an ornate throne, its design equal parts majestic and menacing. It was carved from obsidian and encrusted with crimson gems that shimmered faintly in the low light.

"This is the throne room," Henry said, his voice echoing faintly in the vast space. "Where Lady Victoria holds court and manages the affairs of her domain. It is also where the council convenes when necessary."

Damian stepped inside, his breath catching slightly as he took in the sheer scale of the room. The throne loomed at the far end, its obsidian surface shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight. The massive mural behind it—depicting a brutal battle—drew his eyes like a magnet, but something about it felt off. Wrong. He couldn't explain it, but there was a strange familiarity to it that made his chest tighten.

Henry's voice droned on, describing the significance of the room and its history, but Damian barely registered the words. His gaze shifted, and suddenly the room wasn't pristine anymore. Flames licked at the walls, and smoke choked the air. The mural was cracked, the figures distorted as if melting under the heat. The throne was smeared with blood, a pool of it gathering at its base.

Damian's breath hitched. His vision tunneled as he caught sight of a body—a noble-looking vampire lying crumpled at his feet. The corpse's lifeless eyes stared up at him, unseeing. His hands trembled as he looked down at them, only to find them soaked in blood, the crimson liquid dripping from his fingers.

"What the hell…" he muttered, but his voice sounded distant, muffled.

The scene shifted. His ragged breathing filled his ears as his eyes flicked to another figure—Victoria. She was sprawled on the floor, her body battered and bloodied, her usually poised expression replaced with one of agony. She was alive, barely, but she couldn't move. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Damian felt his body move forward, his steps slow and hesitant. His bloodied hands reached out toward her, his mind racing with emotions he couldn't name.

"Kaelan…" Victoria's voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it cut through the chaos like a blade.

Before he could piece together what happened next, a sharp voice yanked him back to reality.

"Lady Victoria's late husband was a revered figure among our kind," Henry said, oblivious to Damian's internal turmoil. "But you won't find any portraits of him here."

Damian blinked, his surroundings snapping back into focus. The pristine throne room stood before him once more, with no trace of the destruction he had just seen. His breathing steadied as he turned his attention to Henry, who continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

"Lady Victoria has made it clear that she does not wish to display his likeness anywhere in the palace," Henry said. "Some say it's out of respect for his memory. Others believe it's because she doesn't want to be reminded of the tragedy."

Damian frowned, the fragments of the vision still swirling in his mind. "The tragedy?" he asked, his voice tight.

Henry nodded solemnly. "The event that took her husband's life. No one knows exactly what happened, save for Lady Victoria herself. She was the sole survivor of that night."

Damian's fists clenched at his sides. The scene he had glimpsed felt too real to dismiss, too vivid to be a simple trick of his imagination. But the more he tried to focus on it, the more it slipped through his fingers like sand.

"Do you know anything about it?" Damian pressed, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Henry shook his head. "Only what has been passed down through whispers and speculation. It was a massacre. Many nobles lost their lives that night, and the vampire faction was thrown into chaos. Lady Victoria emerged as the new ruler, but the scars of that night still linger."

Damian nodded slowly, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the image of Victoria lying on the ground, her blood pooling beneath her.

As Henry moved to guide them further into the palace, Damian leaned closer to Evelyn and whispered, "I think I saw something. A memory."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked her surprise. "What kind of memory?"

"The throne room. It was… ruined. On fire. There was a body—a noble, maybe her husband—and Victoria was there. She was dying, but I was walking toward her." His voice dropped lower. "I think it might've been the night of the tragedy."

Evelyn's brow furrowed, concern flashing in her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Not completely," Damian admitted, his frustration evident. "It's all fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle I can't put together. But it felt real."

Evelyn placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "We'll figure it out," she said, her voice low but firm, cutting through the swirling chaos in Damian's mind. Her touch was steady, grounding him in the here and now.

Damian gave her a small nod, though his jaw remained tight. "Yeah," he muttered. "I just… don't like feeling like this. It's like there's a wall in my head, and every time I try to push through it, it shoves back harder."